I have to admit, To Bolt Or Not To Be is not a route I ever aspired to climb. There’s no story of me seeing a poster of a lycra-clad climber crimping up its tiny holds at a young age and thinking, “I have to do that one day!”  The route is a striking panel of rock so blank that, unlike many other classics, it doesn’t beg to be climbed.

To Bolt or Not to Be, located at Smith Rock, Oregon, is one of the most important routes in American climbing. First climbed by visiting Frenchman J.B. Tribout in 1986 and hailed as the country’s first 5.14a, To Bolt came at a time when sport climbing was still struggling to distinguish itself as a valid pursuit in its own right. The route was an impossible-looking challenge, tried by all the strongest climbers of the 1980s. But with Tribout’s redpoint, To Bolt or Not to Be created a huge ripple in American climbing, validating Alan Watts et al.’s “top down” approach to route development better than any other climb of its era.

My first experience with To Bolt came back in September 2004. My girlfriend, Jess, and I had come to Smith Rock from Salt Lake City for a week of climbing. It was noon on a hot September day and we were seeking out a shady place to eat lunch. Lacking options, we found a sliver of shade under To Bolt. I remember looking up at this unlikely piece of rock, and feeling unworthy to even sit beneath it.

Fast forward nine years to September 2013. Jess (now my wife) and I have just completed an 18-month climbing trip across the United States. We chose Bend, home to Smith Rock, to settle down. I had actually started working on To Bolt the previous spring, but never came close to a redpoint.  Now we were both in great shape from the last year and a half of climbing. I felt ready to try To Bolt again. After spending several weeks enjoying the easier classics Smith has to offer, I went to work.  The ensuing journey would become the hardest-fought battle of my climbing life.

To Bolt has very few distinguishable features. Climbing To Bolt involves piecing together a delicate series of moves on some of the smallest holds I’ve ever touched. It’s painful. It took me nearly three weeks before I could link sequences without surrendering to the severe pain in my fingertips.

The holds are so small that conditions need to be perfect. A few degrees too hot, and you’d have more success trying to turn back time than climbing To Bolt.

Ironically, the holds are so small that it’s easy to squeeze all the blood from your fingertips. Even on a warm day, my fingers would go completely numb by the fourth bolt. When I started making serious redpoint attempts, I’d climb to the fourth bolt (probably 12c on its own) and hang from two crimps until my fingers went wooden. I’d then lower, warm my hands up and go for it.

Progress came slowly.  Days and days went by where I could only climb bolt to bolt, either unable to stand the extreme pain in my fingers or remember the precise movements necessary to climb the route. I grabbed draws, took falls and watched French climbers float up the 14-bolt route with ease. But slowly I began to improve. One day, I climbed from the seventh bolt to the top. A few days later, I went from the sixth!
Then it happened. That peak level of fitness every athlete strives and prays for. For three days in a row, I consistently made it to the ninth bolt and the first real rest on the route. This was that turning point I had been waiting for. I’d crossed that important mental threshold in which you have to believe you can do something before you can actually do it. Now I knew. Any day I was going to climb this route!

On November 14, Jess and I headed out to the park. It was pretty cold, so I decided to try the route in the sun. The rock felt great and, once again, I climbed perfectly to the ninth bolt, rested well and made it through the next few hard moves to a rest. A smile lit up my face. I had this thing. I’d climbed from this point to the top many times.

I did the final hard move, reached up for one of the biggest holds on the route—and fell. I was devastated. Surely that didn’t just happen, I thought. I hung there at the end of the rope, speechless. That was it. That was my chance, and I blew it.

In the subsequent weeks, we had family in town and I got a full-time job. Both of these were great, but they didn’t do anything for my rock climbing. Weeks went by without climbing much at all. But maybe that’s what I needed—a little break from the route; something to remind me that there is more to life than climbing.

[ba-pullquote align=”right”]I really wanted to give up—but To Bolt was part of me now. Some portion of my identity was based on attempting that route.[/ba-pullquote]When the weather warmed up, I was finally able to get back out to the proj. To my horror, I had lost a lot of fitness and the calluses on my fingers had softened. Once again, I was climbing from bolt to bolt in pain. The huge step back made me seriously question doing the route. I knew how much effort it had taken to get to where I was a few weeks before and the idea of starting over was crippling. I really wanted to give up—but To Bolt was part of me now. Some portion of my identity was based on attempting that route. I couldn’t just give up on it.

Slowly, I started progressing again. Calluses and confidence grew. Soon, I could climb from the ninth bolt to the top; then from the seventh.

On December 29 it was freezing cold, but Jess and I went out to Smith anyway. We started on a 5.10, and I couldn’t even make it to the top. My hands went completely numb. There was no chance I’d be able to maintain feeling on the small crimps on To Bolt. Just as we were about to throw in the towel, the local hardman and eternal optimist Andrew Hunzicker showed up.

“Hey, guys! When the sun pops out, it’s going to be perfect out here!” His optimism and attitude kept us there, though still skeptical. We sat around shivering. Then, dammit it if the sun didn’t come out! I decided to give To Bolt a go.

I did my normal climb to the fourth bolt, completely numbed out and lowered to the ground.  Unlike most of my attempts, I didn’t feel anxious while sitting there waiting for my hands to warm back up.  It was too cold and I wasn’t warmed up enough to do the route. No expectations. I was just rock climbing.

I set off up the route and felt, surprisingly, OK. I made it through the hard moves after the fourth bolt and clipped the fifth. Huh, I wasn’t numb yet! Another sequence brought me to the sixth bolt. I clipped it and executed a new foot sequence I’d found just the day before. It didn’t go perfectly, but I made it through. Starting to feel tired, I considered taking. One thing I learned about climbing on To Bolt is that I was never going to actually do it, so when I felt tired, why not take? But for some reason, I convinced myself to keep trying. A couple more moves brought me to a quasi-rest at the seventh bolt. I shook each hand once and continued on. At this point, I was starting to get a little cold, but only a few more moves would lead me to the first real rest. I kept climbing.

At the rest, I got a lot of warmth back in my hands. As I shook out, I visualized the next sequence and realized if I could do that, I might just do this thing. The redpoint crux relented and soon I was at the 10th bolt. The hardest climbing was over, but I’d fallen above this point twice.  I told myself to just go through the motions. Soon, I was at my previous highpoint. I did the move with ease and now found myself at the last bolt. Horrifying thoughts of other climbers who had fallen here entered my mind. I COULD NOT fall here, I told myself. I climbed the last few moves carefully, clipped the anchors, pulled over the top and sat down. I waved at my friends who were cheering me on from the sunny Morning Glory Wall. I was done!

All that progress, frustration, psyche and stress had brought me here. I couldn’t be more excited to have climbed this incredible and historic route.  It taught me a lot about climbing, managing expectations and most importantly, about myself.  It humbled me like no route has done before. I left a little piece of myself on “The Big Slab” and as much as I began to despise that route in the end, I already miss it.